


At The University

by winchestersinthedrift



Series: Hot Profs Universe [3]
Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Frottage, Latin, M/M, Obscene Latin poetry, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 12:14:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4705628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winchestersinthedrift/pseuds/winchestersinthedrift





	At The University

Sam didn’t see the lines written on the chalkboard until 20 minutes into the lecture. This was for a couple of reasons. It had snowed the night before and all the buses were running late this morning, so instead of getting to the cafeteria ahead of the coffee rush he got there right in the middle of it. Snow had got into the tops of his shoes and soaked his socks, and he realized five minutes before class as he was leaving the office that he’d left the flashstick with his powerpoint on it at home. For all of these reasons he was frazzled and slightly disgruntled when he dashed into the lecture hall five minutes late; a student was waiting at his desk to complain about an essay deadline; and for all these reasons he didn’t look at the blackboard. Hell, he didn’t even have time to take off his wet socks.

It was, thank god, a lecture he’d given several times before, and by the time twenty minutes had passed he had calmed down enough to take a breath, take the lid off his coffee (lukewarm, now, but he wasn’t in a position to be fussy), roll his shoulders a little and let himself switch into autopilot. That’s when he saw the words chalked into the bottom corner of the blackboard.

_Vos, quod milia multa basiorum/ legistis, male me marem putatis?_

It took him a minute to figure out where he recognized it from, and another to realize that he’d stopped talking in mid-sentence. The blood in his veins was coursing so hot it burnt coherent thought out of his mind and knotted his words together. He put his hands in the pockets of his trousers and fisted them hard, felt his cock stiffen a little against one thumb. His voice somehow went on about the self-validating function of habitual actions but his mind and ( _shit_ ) most of his body was back two nights before at the faculty club.

He and Jensen had met there for a drink, their first since the drunken exchange at the college Christmas party. Well, ‘for a drink’; to discuss department programming, Jensen’s email had said, which Sam recognized at once for the cautious invitation that it was. They’d talked department business for exactly nine minutes; then Jensen had leaned back in the padded leather loveseat, stretched an arm across its back and shifted his knees a little apart. He looked across at Sam and cocked his head, projected the genuine interest that had won him hearts and got him sucked off more often even than he realized. ‘So, Sam,’ he’d said, ‘what’s your story?’ Sam had felt the force of his charisma and ran his tongue out over his lips, fighting to focus on Jensen’s words. But jesus _christ_ he was gorgeous, so fuckable that Sam found his hands opening and closing hard against his thighs. He told Jensen how he’d gone to Stanford and then to UCLA for his graduate work; how he’d grown up in small-town Texas and how easily he fell back into its accent. He dimpled, articulate and endlessly personable, and he made Jensen laugh; and the whole time he tried with aggressive effort not to look at Jensen’s crotch.

‘What about you?’ Sam said, clearing his throat but still in a voice so low and gravelly even he noticed it. ‘I know that you went to Dallas and then … Columbia, right? Was it always philosophy for you?’

‘No, actually.’ Jensen had leaned forward, forearms braced against his knees, all his clothing tightening over his body: the jacket stretched taught between his shoulder blades, the stretch and strain of black denim around his hips and over his cock. He reached subtly to adjust himself and Sam ran a long thumb hard over the cool condensation on his beer tumbler. Jensen had taken off his tie and his shirt was unbuttoned almost to the bottom of his breastbone. Sam could see pink flush across freckled skin, swore he could see Jensen’s pecs ripple slightly when he’d leaned in to tap Sam’s knee after a joke. _Jesus_. Focus, Winchester.

‘…so my first degree ended up being in Classics, mostly Latin,’ Jensen was saying, ‘ever dabble in the dead languages, Sam?’

‘Not so much,’ Sam said, lightly, with an effort. ‘They never fit very well with the required shit for psychology, I guess. Had a friend who did but most of what he read seemed to be military accounts. We marched twenty miles, then we built a camp, then we marched again. That kind of thing.’

Jensen laughed easily.

‘Probably Caesar. That man loved his marching.’ (How the fuck had he made that sound so dirty?) ‘It’s the erotic poems though that blew my mind back in the day.’

Sam had shifted and scraped a hand through his hair, unconsciously squaring his shoulders.

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah man.’ Jensen’s eyes flicked up at him, heavy-lidded and dark. ‘There’s this one so dirty our prof wouldn’t even translate it for us. Just made us look up the words in our dictionaries and that was an education and a half.’ He grinned, gratuitous dimples furrowing around his lips. ‘A few of us memorized the last lines just so we could write them in the margins of every damn thing we handed in. Drove the guy mental. _Vos, quod milia multa basiorum/ legistis, male me marem putatis?/pedicabo ego vos et irrumabo_.’

He paused. They were looking right at each other now, no pretense otherwise. No, that wasn’t quite right, either. They were looking each other over, muscles slowly coiling, absorbing the tension thick now between them.

Sam knew that Jensen wanted him to ask. Sometimes he played along with this kind of game, let men think they were seducing him, even enjoyed it, but sitting here in the lounge with Jensen dragging his teeth over his lower lip Sam felt a surge of something else smouldering in his bones. He set his jaw and raised an eyebrow, gave the smallest possible smirk, and Jensen startled a little, shifted on his chair, and fuck Sam would have sworn he actually saw his pupils bloom.

‘It…means,’ said Jensen, molasses slow, as if the words were being dragged from him, not against his will exactly but without any conscious volition, ‘I mean…in rough paraphrase of course – it means ’so you heard I gave my girl a million kisses – what of it? do you think me less of a man? I want to split your ass apart and fuck your pretty mouth.’

There was a silence, short but charged. Jensen swallowed the last of his drink, spread the taste of it over his lips. He was breathing a little hard and for the first time that night not making eye contact. Sam unclenched one giant hand, slowly, deliberately, and laid it flat on the table.

‘Listen,’ he said, ‘I don’t usually smoke, don’t have any on me in fact but – there’s an alley just out back.’ He paused and waited till Jensen looked up and met his eye. ‘Come see,’ he said.

Jensen had thought Sam might grab him and push him back against the wall at once, and his cock had twitched when he’d thought about it and his pulse had thrummed in his fingertips. But Sam didn’t, once they were outside; just lifted a hand and dragged it palm splayed out down over Jensen’s chest. When one of his thumbs ran purposefully over a nipple and flicked up roughly he felt one of Jensen’s knees buckle, felt him catch himself with a visible effort and stagger back a little against the wall. He was clenching and unclenching his fists and looking up at Sam like he was the end to every story, mouth fallen open a little. Sam could see his tongue glistening, twitching behind parted lips. He let his hand rest, still splayed wide, just above Jensen’s waistband, thumb brushing down across the zipper of his pants. Jensen’s cock shuddered, already hard and aching.

‘I suppose I should be a little concerned about student evaluations this term,’ Sam said, low and husky but still conversationally. ‘I’ve been thinking so much about that fucking _mouth_ of yours. It’s knocked me off my game.’ He paused and cocked his head, took a step closer. ‘I bet people tell you it’s a pretty mouth, don’t they? Pretty mouth for a pretty boy?’ He saw the faintest flicker of something at the back of Jensen’s eyes, a tightening around his mouth that popped his dimples.

‘Listen,’ said Sam, pressing him right against the wall now, hips canted forward and his hand still between them, palming smoothly across Jensen’s crotch. ‘ _Listen_. Pretty’s got nothing to do with it. Sure it’s pretty. But that mouth-‘ Jensen’s breath caught and his hips rocked helplessly against Sam’s hand – ‘was _made_ for sucking cock. Keep it all rough cause you think that’s how they’ll like it, don’t you, all the boys and girls? Think a few days’ scruff’ll get you laid?’ He leaned in close so that their lips were dizzy-close, sharing breath. ‘Well,’ silky hot, ‘that’s how _I_ like it.’

Jensen let his knees give, would’ve dropped right then and there and opened Sam’s pants, but Sam was pressed so hard against his hips that it held him up. He shifted so that one of his thighs wedged forward between Jensen’s legs and rocked upwards, cocks slipping hard against each other under fabric, and Jensen fucking _keened_ low in his throat, hips thrashing for more friction. He tilted his head back to catch Sam’s gaze and held it, set his lips together, put a hand up through Sam’s loosened tie and twisted it round his hand so that the fabric tightened against Sam’s neck. His fist lay firm against Sam’s throat. Sam was breathing heavier now, sweating a little, colour high, but he hardly moved, just kept rutting slow and unrelenting against Jensen’s cock.

For a few moments they had stayed like that, caught now in what seemed like a pulsing undertow between their bodies, thighs wedged up against each other and Sam’s hand wrapped against Jensen’s dick, and he’d thought that he might come just from Jensen heaving underneath him, flushed dark beneath his freckles, all the little muscles in his jaw clenched with want. When he felt Jensen’s thighs starting to shake he put his head down hard and opened his mouth, fighting for control against the heat of Jensen coming undone against him, and he’d put his mouth on Jensen’s neck and bit wet just against his collarbone, lapping and laving over the bite with his tongue, and Jensen had said ‘fucking christ’ and then they’d heard someone on the stairs and broken apart from each other, had just time to tuck in shirts before the door had opened and Roger Milton from the Philosophy department had come out, lighting a cigarette, and Sam had nodded at him and left into the darkness down the alley. His erection had throbbed and strained against his pants while he drove home, went in, had a drink. He jerked off on the couch, hips bucking into the air and thinking about Jensen’s mouth fallen open underneath him.

That had been two nights ago, and now there was this line of neat letters written in blocked capitals across a corner of his blackboard. Jensen’s translation of the line just following them rang in his ears. ‘I want to split your ass apart and fuck your pretty mouth.’ _Shit_.

Sam let the students go ten minutes early. Jensen’s office was across campus, he’s never been there but he knew the hallway. Usually it would have been a 15 minute walk; Sam did it in 9. He didn’t knock, just went through and shut the door behind him and Jensen was by the bookshelf on the far side of the room, dressed casually today, jeans and a tshirt that clung to his biceps like it was wet. Sam crossed the room in two steps and pinned him with a hand around each hip, chest against the bookcase, ran a hand up to circle the base of Jensen’s throat. His fingers brushed over stubble and he shivered. Jensen put the book down, left his hands hanging in the air, and Sam could feel the roll of shoulders against his chest.

‘If you didn’t mean it,’ Sam said, ‘now’s the time to take it back.’ Jensen shuddered against him and tried to turn around but Sam gripped his arm and jerked it, pushed him forward again against the shelf. Jensen tipped his head back a little, curve of his neck exposed, and Sam saw the sculpted lines of his nose and jaw, blood-flushed cheeks, the soft virility of his lips, and _jesus_.

‘Fuck you at both ends, that’s it, right?’ he said, barely above a whisper, close beside Jensen’s ear, ‘maybe next time I’ll bring a dildo or a nice fat plug and stuff you at both ends, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?’ Jensen groaned and sagged a little against him and Sam felt his cock stiffen to a raging hardness. He pressed against it and bit his lip. ‘Bet you’re usually the one in charge, aren’t you? Bet they all like that, don’t they? Not today. Gonna take you so hard you’ll feel it all over you tomorrow, wake up and feel how hard I _possessed_ you.’ He backed away suddenly and said ‘get undressed,’ low and thick, and Jensen shucked off his jeans and was naked underneath, cock flushed and hard and sticky already. His arms were down at his sides and all the muscles of his chest were tense and jumping, flexed in anticipation, and he didn’t look away from Sam’s face, just watched him with lips full and touching, not quite pressed together.

Sam pushed him down to the floor and kissed him, inelegant and hard and sloppy, one hand braced on the carpet over Jensen’s shoulder and the other undoing the buttons of his pants, and Jensen got his feet up along Sam’s hips and helped push them down, dragged them over his ass, and he was panting now into Sam’s mouth, fast and laced with little cries when Sam got his hand up around Jensen’s cock. He thumbed it, hardly moving, just gentle squeezing pressure, lowered himself to his elbows and hooked two fingers of his free hand into Jensen’s mouth and ran them up around his tongue and across the roof of his mouth. Jensen gagged a little and arched up underneath Sam, his eyes rolling back in his head.

‘Good boy,’ said Sam, breathily, slipped the fingers out of Jensen’s mouth and down between them and jesus he was perfect, muscular thighs fallen open, cock pink and twitching against his belly, balls drawn up tight and firm, and Sam breached him with a middle finger, careful but no hesitation, and Jensen made a noise and dragged his fingers over the short carpet. When Sam had added a second finger Jensen propped himself unsteadily on an elbow and grabbed at his jeans, scrabbled in the pocket. Sam watched the roll of Jensen’s shoulder muscles, still flexing and curling his fingers, watching Jensen’s head twitch involuntarily to the side and his jaw clench at the feel of Sam inside him. He tossed Sam a tube of lube but stayed propped up, looking at him with an expression unexpectedly predatory.

‘Got ready this morning,’ he said, and winked, and Sam felt his own cock lurch against his belly. He curled his lip ever so slightly and slipped his fingers out, grabbed Jensen and pulled him to his knees so that they were face to face, Sam still crouched down and Jensen kneeling so close to him he felt Sam’s breath across his forehead.

‘I - do you wanna-‘ Sam stopped and swallowed. ‘ _Ride me_ ,’ he said, low and soft, and Jensen pitched forward from his knees and grabbed Sam’s face in both hands and kissed him like he was the end of every story, strong broad fingers splayed around Sam’s jaw and tongue taking every crevice of his mouth. Sam lowered himself to his back and Jensen followed him down, still kissing him open-mouthed, crawled back a little and settled over his hips. He took the lube back, breaking the kiss to laugh, once, softly, and slicked up both himself and Sam while Sam grabbed at his face and hair, rubbed his scruff under his palms, kissed his neck, said ‘fuck, god, _god_ Jensen’, and then he sat up a little and tipped his head forward in concentration and sank down around Sam’s cock in one slow unbroken glide. For a moment there was just harsh breathing, Sam’s fists clenched against the carpet and Jensen arching back with a palm pressed hard at the meeting of Sam’s hip and thigh. ‘Jesus _christ_ ,’ said Sam, fiercely, and Jensen moved a little, tentatively, and made a strangled noise in his throat.

‘Never taken it so deep, have you,’ Sam said, hoarse and low, ‘bet you’ve never been stretched so good, so…. _fuck_ , so - pulled - apart - god god sofuckinghot.’ He propped himself up on both elbows and rocked his hips a bit and Jensen moaned again, louder this time, head still thrown back and eyes closed, lost in sensation.

‘Quiet,’ Sam said roughly, abruptly, ‘didn’t lock the door.’ Jensen’s head snapped up and his eyes startled open, bright and dark, and Sam laughed. ‘Like that, do you? _Ride_ me, you sexy fuck.”

Jensen did, put his hands hard over Sam’s hipbones and pumped his thighs, a few long strokes at first but soon deep and piston-sharp, grinding down and torqueing his hips a little on each stroke so that Sam jerked and let out a long long quiet groan just under his breath, jerked his head to the side, was breathing now in gasps. When he felt Jensen’s movements begin to stutter Sam braced himself on one elbow and wrapped the other hand around Jensen’s cock and jackhammered up from his hips, teeth set together, all the muscles in his torso twisting and jumping, hand pumping Jensen’s cock and Jensen writhing on top of him, hands pressed down on Sam’s thighs and broad chest quivering under its messy constellations of freckles.

When Jensen came it was almost silent, screaming but voiceless, cum coiling over his chest and shoulders, and Sam sat up so fast that it got on his face too, grabbed Jensen around the lower back and held him forced down hard on his cock, his chest heaving now, close and straining, and Jensen put his mouth on Sam’s pulse point and sucked and that was it, Sam came inside him so hard that his convulsing knocked his head against Jensen’s nose and then they were both choking with laughter, still shuddering through their aftershocks. Sam’s back found the side of the desk and Jensen rolled off him, fumbled for the box of Kleenex, knocked over a tray of pens. He grinned at Sam, still flushed and sex-slick, lips swollen from his own lips biting them.

‘Sorry, bit anticlimactic. Next time I’ll move the pen tray.’ Sam gazed at him, lazy and sated, eyes still dragging down in appreciation.

‘Next time,’ he said, ‘we clear the whole fucking desk.’


End file.
